


One step forward, twelve steps back (under edit)

by Thefaultisinourpens



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 (TV) RPF, The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke Griffin, Banter, Bartenders, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Bickering, Childhood Friends, Comedy, Comfort/Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Free! Dive to the Future, I have a bachelor's degree in psychology so accurate descriptions of mental illness, Idiots in Love, Mental Health Issues, Protective Bellamy Blake, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, get ready for a s l o w burn, get ready for a woke Bellamy, get ready for some witty banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefaultisinourpens/pseuds/Thefaultisinourpens
Summary: Bellamy thought he had lost his childhood best friend a long time ago. He searched for months, trying to convince himself that she somehow managed to survive.  It wasn't until he hit rocked bottom that he had to face the truth: she was gone. Years later, he comes across a rude, mouthy bartender, with a striking resemblance to Clarke. Only it's not her, because it couldn't. How could his best friend let him think she was dead?Or: you look just like my "dead" best friend and I hate you for it AU no one asked for------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Trigger warning: Even though there will be plenty of funny banter, this fanfic will touch mental health issues. (WILL NOT INCLUDE SEXUAL ASSAULT) I will put the proper warning before each chapter. If you are concerned about certain triggers, you could always message me and I will be completely forward.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	1. Powerless

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank both of my awesome betas Jewelz1642 and PenguinofProse for tolerating me all this time and being so awesome about this process!

The first step in the twelve steps program is to admit that you are powerless. What a fucking stupid notion.

Clarke always refused to believe that anything in her life was beyond her control. The moment you start making excuses - blaming stress or childhood trauma - is when you give into the narration that you are a mere pawn in your life, not an active member.

Sure, all the above could shape the options you have, but in the end, you always have a choice, even if it's between two equally horrible decisions.

Her dad once told her that she was too harsh, that life isn't black and white. People aren't just good or bad, most of them live in the grey... He was a genuinely kind man.

 _'And look where he ended up',_ Clarke thought bitterly. She took a deep breath, allowing the oxygen to cleanse the negative thoughts that decayed inside her mind. She opened her eyes, inserting her contacts into them. After all these years, it's was still the worst feeling in the world.

She got out of bed quietly, glancing at the window. It was dark outside, meaning she was going to be late. She groaned to herself, dragging her feet tiredly across the room. She checked herself in the mirror, trying to fix her hair as quickly as possible. It was much easier to get it together now that it was shorter. When she was younger, her mother strongly suggested that she grew it because it was more elegant, more presentable. Now, that she was far away for her prying hands, she could finally have the haircut she always wanted.

That was the first thing she did when she disappeared. 

_She's standing in the middle on a dirty bathroom stall, holding a knife with shaky hands. Her clothes are wet, clinging to her body, stained with mud. She takes deep breaths, while tears are streaming down her face. She begins to cut her hair. Slowly at first, but with each strand of hair that falls down the sink, she becomes more determined. She glimpses to her hands, are they red from hair dye or blood? She's not sure._ _When she's done, the image that is staring back is a stranger. She grabs the hoodie that she took from the laundromat, wearing it over her wet clothes. She wants to change it, but it's not safe to dispose of them, not here._

The Clarke in the reflection would be unrecognizable to anyone who knew her before. It's strange how you change on the outside when you change from the inside. She used to be so timid and unspoken: clinging to the dark corners, staying out of sight. Now, she looked healthy, confident, and powerful.

She also looks a fucking, tired mess.

Clarke chuckled to herself, wiping the remains of mascara and eyeliner from the night before with her sleeve. She really should start to get used to removing it before she goes to bed. She quickly splashed water on her face, trying to get to those pesky black flakes that hanged in the corner of her eye. She reapplied it with a swift motion. She used to hate putting it on, as it was only for the sake of disguising herself. But it's grown on her. It was like putting on war paint.

She turned her face left and right, examining herself. She looked half-way decent and had no time to do anything beyond that. She grabbed a pair of jeans, pulling each leg while jumping around the room, and hurried to the front door. In the kitchen stood Raven, leaning against the counter, rummaging through Chinese food leftovers with a smug expression. Her backpack was tossed carelessly on the floor, pouring out books and notebooks, suggesting she had just come home.

"Morning, buttercup," Raven greeted. She singsonged her sweetly, her mouth still filled with pork noodles.

Clarke would have gladly thrown something at her if she had anything in her grasp. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she grumbled.

Raven gave a half-hearted shrug, "Honestly, I thought you'd be gone by now." She was barely understandable, spitting bits of food with every word. If Clarke's mother were here, she would reprimand Raven for being impolite. Clarke could almost hear her voice: scolding and cold for being anything short of perfect.

"Overslept," Clarke explained hoarsely while pouring a cup of cold coffee. She gulped it down, grimacing over the taste. 'Eww, last night's brew.'

"I didn't make coffee yesterday; I have no idea how long that thing has been sitting here," Raven said as she twitched her nose, half apologetically, half amused. Clarke shifted her gaze quickly to the pot, debating whether she should make another cup, to make up for the last one.

Raven caught her, pushing her to the door before blocking her path back to the kitchen, "Oh no, you don't. I used all my connections to get you this job." She stretched both her arms to the side, shifting her body left and right, ready Clarke to make any sudden break.

"You mean, minimum wage job at the bar?" Clarke placed a hand on her heart, mocking sincere gratefulness.

"Well, I don't have a lot of connections, asshole," Raven retorted, crossing her arms in fake hurt.

"I think Murphy would be okay if I'll have just one cup," Clarke murmured as she quickly passed through Raven, easily outmaneuvering her. It wasn't a fair fight after all, not with Raven's bad leg. She quickly ran through the motions of starting a new pot of coffee.

"I swear to god, I'm gonna take this prosthetic out and kick your ass." Raven reached to her knee, tugging with the straps. Clarke rolled her eyes as she watched the pot, tapping her foot impatiently.

"You know what they say about watching water boil?" Raven smiled dryly, limbering her way back to her food.

"It's this damn thing. We need to get a new one." Clarke sighed as she checked it with the back of her hand. Not even slightly warm.

"When I finish school and you are a successful artist, we'll buy all the pots in the world," Raven sarcastically fantasied out loud, before snorting and going back to her pork noodles.

Clarke thought while staring at their old coffee pot. There was a time in her life when Clarke could have any job she wanted. She could've fluttered her eyelashes and an opportunity would present itself, wrapped neatly with a little bow. When she was a kid, her mother would lay her down to sleep, promising the world to her. Promises too good to be true, it turns out. It was difficult adjusting to her new life, knowing she'd actually have to work to get anything, but it was worth it. She didn't mind working two different jobs while taking night lessons at the community college if it meant freedom.

If it meant never having to see anyone from Arkadia ever again.

"Anyways, considering your shift started two minutes ago, it's probably for the best," Raven commented, shaking Clarke out of her thoughts.

"Fine, fine, I'm heading out," Clarke raised her hands as she grabbed her bag.

"Oh, and Jake? If you wake me up tonight when you get back, I will legit end you!" She heard Raven call out after her and closes the door with a sigh.

When she realized there was no way she was ever going home, she knew that she would have to change her name. Clarke was too unique for a girl, and unique was not what she needed when she wanted to make herself as invisible as possible. Yet, part of her felt guilty, changing the name her father picked out for her. So, a compromise was made, and she took his.

Besides, it's not like he was using it, being dead and all.

She thought it would take her a while to get used to that. She imagined she would get confused from time to time and introduce herself with the wrong name. But like most of her dreams that didn't happen. She never had one slip up since they changed it. She became Jake in that dirty bathroom - staring at her reflection, surrounded by strands of her hair in the sink.

* * *

The Dropship is probably the nastiest place Clarke's been to. When she entered, her feet stuck to the ground, almost like quicksand - warning her that this place is going to swallow her whole. She shifted through a few tables: most of them seemed like harmless drunks, mumbling to themselves while holding their own to a bottle. She took a deep breath, trying to hide her disdain. It was probably not a good idea for her to work in a bar, considering her past with self-medication, but it was the only place willing to work under the table. After all, it's not like she could use her real identity. A man behind her started to cough loudly. She managed to get out of his way gracefully, a moment before the customer hurled all around the floor.

Well, that explains the stickiness.

"Nice dodge J. Clearly, you've done this before," a voice from behind her said. She glanced over her shoulder to find Jasper, chewing on ice.

"Yeah, I played for the Dodgers," she joked. Jasper blinked at her a few times, confused. She noticed then that the pink hue in his eyes was not a reflection of the lights. Figures. He's usually stoned by now. She explained slowly, "I didn't actually play for the Dodgers," fighting a smile.

The guy took a step back, nodding as if he was assessing her humor. He shook his head, realizing the joke, before concluding, "You're good. You're really good." He paused, "And late, I think." He glanced at the clock on the wall, the one that hasn't been working for years. "Whoa! Your shift is almost over! Murphy's gonna kill you," he gasped.

"Yeah, I should go," she replied. She peeked over his shoulder to see if Murphy's anywhere to be found. Thank god, he's not inside the bar, she thought.

"Honestly, it's cliché for the manager to be named Murphy. But maybe it's like the opposite thing, you know? Maybe his parents named him knowing he would be a bartender. Or, or- maybe he felt obligated to become a bartender with a name like Murphy." He paused, rubbing his chin. Clarke knew better than to weigh in, whenever he got into his philosophical mood. It was better to let him babble until he ran out of things to say.

"Anyways I gotta get back to my friends there," Jasper shook his head like he was scared about forgetting them. "I'll try to create a distraction so Murphy won't see you come in."

"Hop by later. I'll get you those pretzels you like," Clarke promised and headed to the bar.

* * *

Bellamy rested his head on the back of his hand, sighing deeply. Staring back at him was a pile of history papers he was supposed to be grading. He glanced through a random assignment, snorting loudly. 'Ugh, clearly plagiarized,' he mused to himself. Honestly, he figured that the snotty rich kids would know better than just copy-and-paste Wikipedia.

He once tried to make grading into a drinking game, taking a shot whenever he read something incredibly stupid, but the idea was quickly scratched when he got wasted before finishing the first paper.

He knew his students gossiped behind his back - complaining about his incredibly high expectations - and he took pride in that. When he was a student, he worked two jobs and took care of his sister, all while studying every spare second he had. So, excuse him for not being impressed when he got a lousy paper that had no original thought behind it.

His real passion wasn't being a teaching assistant for those spoiled rich kids, of course. It was just a way to get money for Octavia. But now that O was all grown up and moved away, he needed something else to take care of. After all, years of molding his life and personality around caring for someone shouldn't go to waste. So, he volunteered at the care center, helping people get their GED. Nate has told him repeatedly that he's wearing himself thin, but he didn't care. Keeping busy was essential to keeping a clear mind. And he didn't like being alone with his thoughts.

But, now that the summer has begun, he had plenty of time to himself for the first time in years. Which is a horrible new experience. All he had to do, for two months, was to grade seniors on their final paper and work on his thesis - the one hasn't been able to finish for a year.

Scratch that. The one he hasn't been able to start.

He leaned further into his hand, skimming one of the last papers he had to grade. In 60 BC, Caesar, Crassus and Pompey formed the First Triumvirate ...

Bellamy let out an annoyed groan, glaring at the paper.

"What wrong with this one?" Nate laughed from the kitchen.

Bellamy picked it up and started waving it, as to shake the mediocrity out of it, "THEY DIDN'T EVEN ERASE THE HYPERLINK!" He grunted again, shaking his head. "Also, they talked about the wrong Caesar!"

"Is there more than one?" Nate scratched his head, confused.

Bellamy blinked a few times, shocked by his roommate's lack of what should be common knowledge. "Well, yeah. First, there was Julius Caesar, and then there was his adopted son, Augustus, who took his name and made it…"

"Wow! Super interesting! Thank you, Mr. Blake," Nate said, a little too loudly, making Bellamy even more huff in frustration.

"You're wasted potential," he remarked.

"How do you know my childhood nickname?" Nate teased back. He came out of the kitchen, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Bellamy cringed, Nate probably left the dirty dishes in the sink.

Nate ignoring Bellamy's looks continued, "Anyways, does that mean that your royal highness..."

"Ave Caesar," Bellamy corrected, making the other man roll his eyes.

"...Is going to grace us with his presence tonight?" Nate crossed his legs, giving his friend a scolding look.

Bellamy considered it for a moment, shifting his gaze from Nate to the papers.

"Come on. When was the last time you went out?" Nate continued to urge, leaning closer.

"Do one-night-stands count?" Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck, trying to appear innocent.

"I think you know they don't." Nate rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Bellamy wasn't sure if he was tired because of the day he had or just tired of him.

Bellamy took another glance at the paper when he saw one with the actual Wikipedia logo.

"Count me in."

* * *

When they arrived at The Dropship, Bellamy twitched his nose. All his friends have been raving about this place, but honestly, he can't figure out what the big deal is. It was just another dive bar with cheap drinks and... Well, cheap drinks might be enough of a reason, now that he thought about it. Nate directed them to a corner booth, claiming it was their usual table. Bellamy tried to hide a snort; to call it a table is an insult to furniture everywhere.

"I can't believe grandpa made it," Harper teased, elbowing Bellamy's rib. Bellamy tried to return a smile, but failed, rubbing his incoming bruise. Ever since Octavia got Harper into Krav Maga, she threw quite a punch. Or an elbow if he's being precise.

"Someone has to wave his hand at you kids to get off their lawn," he joked.

"Oh, teach us your wise ways, master, to us mere crickets," Murphy remarked as he stood up to take a small bow, his mockery making Monty frown.

Monty commented, attempting to sound casual, "Pretty sure that's cultural appropriation."

"You're Korean," Murphy retorted, climbing back into the booth.

"I'm offended," Monty defended as he dodged Murphy's flying limbs.

"I thought your people were known for their kindness-" Murphy commented casually as he takes a sip of his drink.

"DUDE, THAT'S STILL NOT OKAY!"

Bellamy glanced at Jasper, who drew his eyebrows in confusion. "I thought he was Canadian," he whispered to Bellamy, concerned. He reeked of marijuana and cheesy Cheetos; the scent was so strong it almost took a visual form. Bellamy tried to smile, but it was hard to hide his concern. He has confronted Jasper about his smoking habits in the past, but Jasper always dismissed it, claiming 'his mother said it was okay.' Bellamy noted to himself to keep an eye on his regression.

Murphy glanced away, groaning, "If you'll excuse me, I need to head out for a second. Jay thinks she is so smart…"

"Was she late again today?" Monty asked, scoffing.

"No!" Jasper called, blinking repeatedly while laughing nervously. Murphy rolled his eyes at the obvious lie, talking over Japer's head.

"Yeah, she thinks that if I don't see her come in it's like she was never late. I swear to god that if she's going to be late one more time…" 

"You're not gonna do anything because she's the only one dumb enough to work here," Harper noted.

Murphy sighed deeply, blowing air from his cheeks. "I won't fire her, but I will scold her." He mumbled, defeated.

"Probably not, though."

"Yeah, probably not." He agreed, hopping off the table to greet his employee. Quickly, the conversation shifted towards some new tv show or singer, or something like that. Bellamy always had a tough time keeping up with current culture. He was about to start one of his usual rants about _Panem et circenses_ when suddenly he heard a laugh.

A cheery, lyrical, laugh.

Bellamy could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing. His legs started to jump nervously, and his hands were shaking because he knew that laugh. He has been thinking about that laugh for years now. It belonged to one person and one person only. And that person wasn't supposed to laugh anymore. She's supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean.

Bellamy closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could almost see her, shouting at him for being an idiot. His lips crawled into a smirk that used to be reserved for her only. A familiar tingle of hope snuck into his heart, which Bellamy tried to drown right away. When they told him that about Clarke, he refused to believe it. She couldn't be dead. They never actually found her body, no clues as to what happened, so how could he just accept that his best friend was killed? He knew her, she was strong, and she was a survivor. Drowning seemed like an impossible way for her to die. He used to imagine the moment he found her over and over. He's imagined that the craziest scenarios: her being kidnapped, amnesia, anything that could distract him from the harsh truth: she was gone.

The woman laughed again, and the melody... it was mesmerizing. It was almost like a comforting lullaby, caressing away the years of loss. He took another long sip from his drink, trying to focus on the here-and-now. 'It's not her,' he reminded himself. He knew he should look; he knew that was the only way to fully return to reality. He counted to five before he made himself turn, ready for the wave of disappointment. But it never arrived.

Because the woman standing next to Murphy looked hauntingly familiar.

Bellamy jerked his head quickly, closing his eyes. Jesus, how drunk is he? _'That's not her_ ,' he thought to himself forcefully. He reminded himself that the last time he saw her, she was fifteen years old, and that was over a decade ago. It wasn't her. It was some random woman that matched the way he'd always imagined Clarke would look if she'd somehow survived. Besides, Clarke couldn't possibly be alive. He would know. She wouldn't have let him live without knowing.

He glanced over his shoulder, slowly opening his eyes to focus outside the small window. He examined every feature from afar, forcing himself to find any evidence that could disprove her identity. She was a lot thinner, tanner, and a redhead. A traitorous part of his brain pointed out that all those things can be changed. Her big eyes, small nose, the way her lips perked up when she smiled… For a projection of his former best friend, the resemblance was uncanny.

When she laughed again and punched Murphy's shoulder, he forgot how to breathe. He swallowed hard, trying to ease his heartbeat by inhaling and exhaling slowly. He realized then, it was more than just the way she laughed or looked; It was the way she acted. Being her best friend, he was able to study her for hours, every motion she'd made was carved into his memory. Just like Clarke, the woman in the bar held herself a certain way, almost like she's floating above everyone else. Like a Princess.

His heart started to flutter, and his head began to spin as he grew more certain that there was a chance that this woman could be her.

"Who is that?" he asked in a raspy voice, gesturing with his head to the bartender while making sure that his head was turned. If it was her, really her, he needed to act with caution.

"That's Jay, she's new here," Jasper answered. He waved dramatically at the bartender, blowing air kisses at her. Bellamy flinched at the name before shaking his head. 'Of course, she's not gonna use her real name,' he tried to convince himself.

"Do you know where she's from?" He forced himself not to stare at her.

Jasper gave half a shrug, raising both of his hands. "She's kinda mysterious ya know? Why, are you, like, into her?" He wiggled both of his eyebrows in amusement. "I saw her making out with a girl the other day, so..."

"Jasper, focus, what do you know about her?" Bellamy asked harshly. He knew he was being an asshole, but he could apologize later. There was no time to waste.

Jasper narrowed his eyes, every unfried brain cell left of his was collaborating, trying to produce anything useful. "Well..." Jasper's eyes lit up. Finally, something Bellamy could use. "She doesn't play for the Dodgers."

_For fuck's sake._

Bellamy sighed. The only way to know if it was her was to get a pure, sincere reaction out of her, one that would catch her off guard. He approached the bar, almost lounging himself to the table. Before banging as hard as he could on the wood bar counter.

"What the hell?!" he yelled.

Granted, he could have been more subtle.

However, it worked. The woman who was cleaning the glasses yelped, dropping it to the floor.

"What the hell yourself! You can't just yell at people behind their backs!" She yelled back, clenching he hand to her heart and taking deep breaths. She then shifted her eyes to the broken pieces of the floor. "Shit. Murphy's gonna take that out of my paycheck." She glanced towards Bellamy, smiling mischievously. "Well, he can't charge a customer." She smirked, collecting the broken shreds with her bare hands.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes to the woman in front of him, chewing on his cheek. He hoped for her to be startled, to confess, to wrap her hands around him, and beg for forgiveness. The look on her face did not indicate her being busted. She crossed her arms impatiently, and he realized he had been staring at her without saying anything.

"Here's a menu. If you want to order something, knock yourself out," she said, tossing him a laminated piece of paper. She then moved along to other customers. Bellamy blinked a few times, shocked. That conversation went nothing like he thought it would. It was a bad start, but maybe it was his fault for trying to act casual. He should've let her know that he's on to her.

"Hey, I know you from somewhere," he tried again, leaning back on his chair, trying to appear smug. He hoped that by acting confident, he could trigger something, anything. A tear, a twitch, even a blink, but it was all in vain. Her face was set in stone.

"I don't think so. Unless you've been to Michigan," she replied, barely bothering to look at him, giving only a mere peek. He was about to give up and deem this whole thing a strange encounter when he heard her laugh again. He couldn't just give up. Not without being 100% sure. He couldn't do that to Clarke.

"Never been to the west coast?" He asked. He had to raise his voice to get her attention.

She shook her head, forcing a smile. He wanted to grab both of her shoulders and shake that smugness of her face. How dense did she think he was?!

"Huh. Funny, because you look exactly like someone I know," he muttered through his teeth.

She exhaled deeply, rubbing her left temple with slow, circular motions. Was this is? Is she going to admit that he caught her? Bellamy felt himself feel with anticipation. "You're cute and all, but not my type. Now, if you want to order something…" He grabbed her arm forcefully, pulling her closer. She tried to tug her arm away from his grip, but he was determined. He can't lose her, not again.

"What the fuck?" She hissed at him. She moved like a captured animal. Bellamy tried to shake away that thought because that would've made him the hunter.

"Let me look at..." he started to explain. But he stopped when he felt a tingling sensation on his left cheek, quickly spreading to that entire side of his face. She slapped him. He raised his hand to touch the place of the injury, baffled.

Clarke would've never done it. Not when she knew about his mother. His mind started racing, as a million different theories crossed his mind. Maybe she did lose her memory? A desperate part of him refused to let go. He wanted to inquire, but before he could, he felt her grab onto him, yanking him from the collar of his shirt.

"Get your hands off me." Her tone was quiet and low. That's when he saw it, a pair of sharp brown eyes staring intensely. His heart skipped a beat, and the whole world seemed to stop.

Clarke had blue eyes.

"Now, do we have a mutual understanding here?" She almost growled to him. He nodded, and as he dropped into a chair, he could feel his heart sink as well.

"I'd pour you a drink, but you've had enough." The mockery in her tone was cruel; it was like a dagger to his heart. This image in front of him was like a horrible fever dream that'll forever taunt him. He chewed on his lower lip, tilting his head to the side. It wasn't fair to project his feeling of loss, anger, and resentment to this stranger; he knew that. But the way she looked at him, that mixture of pity and disgust, drove him insane. He felt his lips crawl into a smirk.

"You look like a girl I used to fuck. Sorry for the mix-up."

Well, that was misogynistic and a horrible thing to say to anyone.

What he hated even more than the fact that it turned out he's a bigger asshole than he thought himself, was the fact that her shocked expression gave him so much satisfaction. Her lower lip began to tremble, and some twisted part of him wanted to extract any hurt from her.

Instead, she sneered, "Well, if tonight is any indication, I don't think she's gonna call." Suddenly her gaze shifted up as she gestured above him. "Yo, does this belong to you?" She asked someone from behind him.

He felt a sudden hand on his back, grabbing him. "Sorry, he's a bit of a mess tonight, his friend apologized. He wanted to object but bit his tongue when he saw Nate's glare.

"I barely had anything to drink," Bellamy mumbled. He felt like a kid again in parent's teacher conference, scolded for being naughty.

"Oh, then that's just your good-natured self?" she commented. "Jeez, being drunk was your last saving grace." She clicked her tongue, hitting the bar with her towel. He clenched his fists and turned away, desperately wanting to respond. He couldn't help himself around this woman. Everything about her provoked him, pressing buttons he didn't even know he had.

"He's usually more tolerable than that," Miller insisted, and he could feel the grip on his shoulder tightening. He's definitely going to hear a lecture later tonight. "He wasn't that much of an asshole, right?" Nate checked, and Bellamy could hear a certain nervousness. He dug his nail into his palm, trying to remain civil. Losing his temper around this girl meant losing the last shred of dignity he had.

"Nah, I'm fine. Nothing a generous tip can't fix," she answered casually and handed out a tip jar, laughing loudly. How did he think it was the same laugh? Her voice now seemed like nails on a chalkboard.

"I'll give you a big one." Nate searched in his pocket, winking at Bellamy. "Stay in school," he remarked with a finger gun motion. She rolled her eyes but cracked a sincere smile to him. Bellamy felt a gentle tug from his collar, implying that it was time to leave this woman alone, and he was more than eager to oblige.

* * *

Only after the last person in the bar left did Clarke allowed herself to breathe. Working after seeing him was like operating on autopilot. People's words were muffled like she was hearing them from under the water. After his departure, she replayed their meeting over and over again in her mind.

_When he entered the bar, it was like someone pulled a rug under her feet. Everything around her moved very slowly, as she watched each step he took with a longing gaze. After he sat down, the spell broke, allowing her to focus. She had come across people from her past before, but with Bellamy, she wasn't sure she'd be able to get away. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for any exit routes. There was one door, and Bellamy just happened to sit right in front of it. If he noticed her leaving in a hurry, he would have been able to connect the dots. Her only option was to act casual, hoping he won't approach her._

_That's right, she thought. Why would he talk to her? He's here with his friends, having the time of his life. She's just a bartender, working in a dark corner. She could do this. She'll play it low during this shift and quit later, to avoid ever having to see him again._

_Her plan relaxed her, perhaps a little too much. She should've kept her back turned to him as much as possible, but she couldn't help but glimpse at him from now and then, noting the differences from her memory. He was taller, a lot taller than she remembered. And more muscular. She forced herself to look away, pretending to be preoccupied with polishing the wine glasses. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was frustrated about something. In her mind, she pictured what possible lecture he's working on. She chuckled to herself, reminded of the time he ranted for hours about why Hercules, the Disney movie, was a bad representation of the Greek gods._

_"What so funny?" Murphy grumbled as he approaches the bar._

_She shook her head, dismissively. "Private joke," she answered, making Murphy let out a loud snore. The moment he does, Clarke cringed. He had drawn attention to her._

Clarke massaged the bridge of her nose, trying to calculate her next move. Her brief meeting with Bellamy went fine. There was a moment she thought he was on to her, but as it turned out, she was better at this than she thought. She felt satisfied with her success, mostly.

A small, egotistical, stupid part of her felt disappointment. She was sure that if she'd ever come across him, he would know her instantly. She fantasized about that moment for years, dreaming about him wiping away her tears, scolding while holding her tightly. Hugging her so tight, as if he could keep her with him, safe, if he never lets her go.

It might've been good to see him, though, since, in a way, she idealized him in her head. She saw him as the kindest, sweetest, funniest person in the world once. It turns out, he grew up to be an asshole. A handsome asshole, but still.

She shook her head, covering her face with both of her hands. Rubbing across her skin as if she could rub away the thought.

At least he seemed convinced about her identity. Meaning she didn't have to quit. Actually, if she did quit now, it might raise his suspicions. Since he wasn't a regular in the bar - from what she could tell - this might be their last meeting ever. A sudden thought rose to her mind, and a burning sensation filled her cheeks.

She slapped him. What if that's the last thing they would…

Her heart began racing, as guilt and anger washed over her. she went too far. She knew it the moment her fingers touched him, but it was an instinct. Being on the run meant dealing with a lot of sketchy men, you get accustomed to handling things a certain way. And he did act like a jerk.

Still, he didn't deserve that.

She tried with all her might not to picture him back home, staring blankly at the wall, as memories of his mother terrorized him. But the image refused to leave.

* * *

When she came back to her apartment, she left her shoes outside the door, careful not to make any sounds. In the living room sat Luna, one of Raven's weird friends from college.

"Raven said I could crash here," she explained. Clarke looked at the living room, searching for a phone, a book, anything that could indicate what she did before she entered. Did she just… stare?

"I'm meditating. Would you like to join me?" Luna answered the question that Clarke did not ask out loud.

Things like that made Clarke wary of Luna. She didn't have a problem with her, per se, but the way Luna looked at you, observing quietly and thoroughly, always made her feel uncomfortable. The first time they met, Luna didn't shake her hand, but gazed into her eyes and told her she should learn to forgive, instead.

"I'm tired," Clarke responded, hoping to make it to her room without triggering any further analysis.

"What a wild night you've had," Luna remarked quietly, barely glancing at her. Clarke's lips pressed into a pout. God damn those psychology students.

"It was just another shift," she lied through her teeth without batting an eyelid. It took a while, but now, lying became second nature to Clarke. She did it so often that she had to write some things down to keep up.

"Sure, Jake," Luna whispered. The way she pronounced her name sent shivers down Clarke's spine. Like she knew her darkest secrets, not saying anything due to indifference alone. Clarke fought the urge to punch that smug, know it all freak. Instead, she gave a casual shrug, like she had no idea what she's talking about.

After closing the door behind her, she felt something bothering her eye… the makeup. Clarke is almost cheerful, proud to have remembered to take it all off for the first time in months. She skipped to the bathroom, placing each brown contact into their case. She looked up at her mirror. Staring back was a teary reflection


	2. Greater power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tries to help Raven only to get herself in trouble, Bellamy tries to sort out the event from the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, descriptions of panic attack

_"This is boring," Bellamy announced loudly, slumping on the bed. Clarke exhaled deeply, clasping her hands and bringing them to her chin._

_"We can't just study history all day. You have math and English and…"  
"Maybe I'm just embarrassed that even though I'm older than you, you tutor me and not the other way around," He said, jerking his face to her direction and pouting. "My delicate, male dignity has been shuttered." He wiped away an imaginary tear._

_She rolled her eyes, letting out a sigh of frustration, "I don't understand why you're failing English. That's the easiest subject. It's your native language, after all." She emphasized the last part, as it was utterly unbelievable. "I mean, you do so well in history…"_

_Bellamy cut her off, "That because history is important. Those are things that actually happened." He shifted his pose, puffing his chest, "I am a man of fact…"_

_"You're seventeen. Hardly a man," Clarke interrupted, snorting loudly. Bellamy chuckled and leaned a little closer, crooking one eyebrow. She turned away, tugging on a loose string on her shirt. "The point is," Clarke said, a little too loud, "is that you should try and think about English like history. Even if Jane Eyre is fiction, it's still based, in a way, on actual events. Real people, real places, real emotions…" she was listing different facts from the author's life, and how it affected her writing._

_He closed his eyes, trying to picture her words, but he could feel himself drifting away. He knew that Clarke would get upset if he fell asleep while she was talking, so instead, he directed his attention to her tone. The way she spoke a little too fast when she mentioned the Bronte sisters, her gasping between words when she thought about a good comparison. He had no idea what she was talking about, but still, he was entertained._

_"You're cute when you got like this, princess." He hummed. The words flew from his mouth before he could catch them. He wasn't trying to flirt with her. He was just stating a fact. It was completely platonic._

_"You're being stupid," she said as she threw a pillow on his face._

_Bellamy chuckled as he took the pillow and placed it under his head, "I'm being honest." He cracked one eye open, and his lips curled up into a smug grin._

_"Focus!" She crossed her arms, blowing air from her cheeks. There she goes, being all cute again. Bellamy's gaze shifted to the ceiling above him, smiling quietly. That was part of Clarke's charm, the fact she was completely authentic. She was effortlessly adorable. He knew he shouldn't push her further, but it was hard not to tease her._

_"Maybe if you let me smoke one last cigarette…" he mumbled under his breath._

_"BELLAMY!" she bellowed, unaware of his amusement._

_"Fine, fine," he waved his hands dismissingly, "Tell me again about this, Richard dude." he didn't need to look to know that a satisfied grin rested on her lips._

He opened his eyes, fully aware of his head pounding. Even though he barely had anything to drink, he still felt hungover, like the woman he saw was some sort of hard liquor herself. Maybe, in a way, she was. After all, his obsessive search for Clarke was his own kind of addiction. Even though it was hurting him and those around him, he just… couldn't stop. Even after Abby begged him to stop digging into a painful past, he still refused to quit. He was self-destructive, hostile and just plain childish to think she was somehow alive.

He thought he got over her. He thought he would never have to face this version of him ever again. He thought wrong. Last time, the only thing that got him out of that state was when Octavia planned a private intervention. She forced him to see himself, asking him what Clarke would think about his behavior if she was alive.

But now, when Bellamy tried to picture Clarke scolding him for being rude, the bartender's mocking smile kept crawling back into his mind. Not only did she ruin his night, but she also destroyed the memory of his best friend. If Bellamy were the type of man that would use the b-word to describe women, now would be the time. Of course, he wasn't, but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted to. 

Outside of his room, he could hear Murphy and Nate talking, very loudly, about his behavior last night. He did not doubt in his mind they were intentionally speaking so loudly, making sure he'd hear every bit of snarky comment about him. Bellamy grabbed a pillow, trying to cover his ears, without much success. Usually, he would consider himself a morning person; it was a habit he grew while making lunch boxes for Octavia. How come Nate and Murphy were up so early?

Bellamy snuck a peek at his clock and rose instantly. 

11 am. 

It's been years since he woke up this late. 

Bellamy forced himself out, grabbing his old t-shirt from the floor (now he was lazy and messy, great) and opened the door slowly, hoping for a quiet morning. 

"There's my favorite bartender-harasser in the world!" Murphy clapped his hands together.

Bellamy gave a pleading look to Nate, begging for his help. Nate conveniently looked away, stating that he was alone in this.

"Shut up," he shot a glare at Murphy, slamming the door behind him. Murphy, in response, blew him a kiss, before returning his attention to the television. Next to him was an empty bowl of cereal, and tiny spots of milk could be seen.

"So, what got into last night?" Nate asked, trying to sound casual. His tone had a note of concern, which warmed Bellamy's heart.

"Nothing, I guess I drank too much," he lied. His lips barely touched anything remotely alcoholic last night. Still, it was easier than to explain how he thought the bartender was actually his dead best friend whose body has never been found, and when he discovered that she wasn't, something inside him snapped.

"Still, what was the trigger? I mean, I looked away for a second and suddenly you're in the middle of a fistfight-"

"It was not a fistfight," Bellamy cut him off with a dismissive hand motion. 

"Maybe he found out she's gay and was disappointed," Murphy suggested, tilting his head in mock innocence. 

"Bisexual," Nate clarified, "Also, I don't remember you drinking," he pressed his lips into a thin line, demanding an explanation. He knew he could just tell them, let them know what was happening, but the words refused to come out. Talking about Clarke was like opening a pandora box; he had no idea what would come out. It was better to repress any feeling or thought he had, rather than risking going back to old patterns. Bellamy's mind started to race, trying to think of a good excuse when Murphy chimed in. 

"I bet he was already drinking when he graded those papers." Murphy clicked his tongue while shaking his head. Bellamy masked away his sigh of relief as he nodded profusely.

"Yep, you got me," he laughed nervously. Nate's expression relaxed as he cleared the way for Bellamy to make breakfast. Bellamy opened the fridge and took out eggs, bacon, and a few vegetables. When you grow up the way he did, you just get used to doing things around the house without being asked. He was pretty sure that if not for him, those two would skip most of their meals.

"Cut those," he gestured to Nate, eager to change the subject. Nate mock saluted him, as he began to cut the vegetables into thick slices. Bellamy would probably do it quicker, but it was important to let his friends feel useful from time to time.

"Why do you never ask me to cut out the salad?" Murphy straightened his posture, stretching his head from the couch to watch them both.

"Because you'd fuck it up," Bellamy retorted, flashing a smug smile. Murphy seemed a little offended, but after a few seconds, he nodded in agreement.

"Regardless, you were a douche last night, drunk or not. You need to apologize to Jay," Nate insisted while cutting out the cucumbers. His kindness was one of the traits that usually Bellamy admired, but today it was hard not to get irritated by his righteousness. Bellamy let out an annoyed groan.

"What kind of a weird name is that?" he muttered, flipping the omelet with a swift motion. Nate was right; of course, there was no denying it. Even if she is arrogant and smug, it's not her fault she triggers something dark inside him. She was the perfect image to project any unresolved feeling he had towards Clarke, which, as it turns out, weren't all positive.

That being said, just thinking about himself apologizing was enough to send waves of fury down his spine. It wasn't about pride, at least not entirely. It was thinking about her taunting smirk that made him cringe at the idea.

"Trust me. Jay is not the kind of girl that will cry herself to sleep over something stupid Bellamy said," Murphy puffed loudly, as the idea of her being hurt was unimaginable. "She handles pervs and weirdos daily. Trust me, you won't place on her top five worst experiences."

For a mere second, Bellamy toyed with letting himself off the hook. However, it was a step back after years of progress. He wasn't the brooding, dark and hostile man he was before. He was different. He was better; he was over the whole Clarke thing.

"Yeah. But I'm still on her list, probably," Bellamy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. Nate and Murphy exchanged looks, which stated he was right. For a moment, the only sound came from the eggs cooking, sizzling away the awkwardness. Murphy cleared his throat like he was about to say something, but he stopped himself. Bellamy flipped the omelets, debating whether he should push and ask Murphy what was on his mind.

* * *

"See? Isn't it nice to go out while it's sunny outside?" Raven reached both her arms above her head, stretching them wide. If Clarke's glare could kill a person, Raven would be lying on the floor, bleeding.

"The sun hurts my eyes," Clarke muttered, blocking away the light with her hand.

Usually, she'd never leave the house this early, but she was willing to make an exception for Raven. After she went through with her surgery that amputated her leg, she had to go through weekly sessions of physical therapy, and today was her annual checkup. Raven wasn't the type that acted vulnerable around other people, so when she asked her to accompany her to the doctor, Clarke had no choice but to accept. She didn't feel comfortable telling her that she despised hospitals. And it wasn't because she was scared of blood, or death, or anything like that… She just didn't like doctors in general. From personal experience, they were nosy, condensing, megalomaniac assholes. Also - even though it was completely irrational - whenever she'd meet a doctor, she couldn't shake the feeling they were spying after her, reporting back to her mother.

"So, how was your shift last night? Luna told me you got home pretty late," Raven said, and Clarke didn't miss the way her lips slightly curled up by mentioning Luna.

How was her shift last night? 

_I ran into my former best friend, who supposed to think I'm dead and had to pretend I don't recognize him._

"Awesome. Great tips," she murmured instead.

Thinking about Bellamy was a luxury she couldn't afford. When she saw him, it took every bit of her will power to keep her from leaping into his arms, telling him everything he wasn't supposed to know. He might be a little bit of an asshole right now, but he was still important to her. Plus, she couldn't dismiss the fact that in some way or another, she had played a part in him becoming this angry stranger. Clarke blew the air from her cheeks, closing her eyes. 

"Well, are you coming?" Raven inquired, gesturing to the hospital. Clarke swallowed hard, taking a sharp, shallow breath. 

They entered the building, and Clarke was overwhelmed with the familiar scent of bleach and sanitizer. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, grumbling. They sat in the waiting room with flickering fluorescent lighting. Clarke tapped her foot nervously as she glared at the ceiling. _Come on, how hard is it to change a lightbulb every now and then?_

"Stop, you're making my amputee leg jealous," Raven said sarcastically, placing a hand on Clarke's knee. She was flipping through a magazine half-heartedly, skimming through it lazily.

Clarke could feel her palms beginning to sweat when she grabbed the bottom part of her chair, rocking back and forth. She kept glancing at the watch, trying to force the time to move faster. Instead, her mind triggered the opposite result, and the clock seemed to move excruciatingly slow.

"How much longer?" Clarke could barely speak. Her mouth felt incredibly dry, and each word was painful to let out. Raven scratched the back of her leg and didn't answer. Suddenly Clarke wasn't sure if she could even manage to produce sound.

She scanned the room, desperate to find a distraction. Her gaze fixated on a heart monitor. She watched the line bounce, each time it dropped. She could feel her heart sink. Suddenly, a nurse disconnected the cord, making a loud monotone sound. Even though it was far away, it hurt her ears. She tried to cover them, but then it still ringed in her head. The loud beep, the flickering lights, the horrible scent… she had to leave. She grabbed her things quickly, barely able to hold her bag without dropping it.

"Where are you going?" Raven called suspiciously.

"Smoke," Clarke blurted out. It was all she was able to say. Raven twitched her nose and leaned back to her chair.

"Gross. Just… be back in time, okay?" Clarke nodded. The moment she was out of Raven's sight, she ran as fast as could.

* * *

Clarke wasn't a big smoker. That being said, she took pride in her ability to roll one in less than twenty seconds. However, now the tobacco kept falling off to her knees, and the paper didn't stick properly. Eventually, she threw it away angrily. She hugged herself tightly, fighting back an urge to scream. She tried to breathe, but each inhale was shallow and short.

I'm going to die here. I'm going to die on a bench outside of the hospital, and no one will know. No one will know. No one…

"You have a panic attack," Clarke felt too exhausted to bother and check whose voice it was. She was paralyzed.

"Jake. Look at me. You have a panic attack," the person repeated. The voice was muffled like she was underwater. Like she was under the lake again. Clarke closed her eyes as her nails dug into her arms. _It was your fault. You did this. It's you…_

"Jake. It's Luna," she spoke softly. "I know it's hard. You're going to be fine. Is it okay if I touch your arm? It can help." Clarke forced her head up and down. Her muscles felt like they were rusted and not functioning. She felt a tight grip on her shoulder, pushing her down.

"Good, we're going to get through this together. I'm not going to leave you. Now, I need you to name five things you see." She commanded. Clarke swallowed hard as she moved her eyes slowly across the hospital yard.

"T-trees," She mumbled, snuffing her nose.

"Good. Four more."

"Grass… ahh…"

"You can do this." Luna encouraged. The tone was comforting, just knowing someone was there helped.

"Bench. Hand. Ahh… I can't think of something else." Clarke apologized, bringing her hands to her face. The grip tightened a bit; the person who was holding her was letting her know she had support.

"Touch three things near you. Anything is fine." Clarke reached a trembling hand to the bench, gripping it hard. The touch of metal and wood to her skin was surprisingly reassuring. She next touched her bag, feeling the fabric between her fingers.

"Good. You're doing great. Your breathing is slowing down."

Lastly, Clarke reached for the person's hand, intertwining her fingers with theirs. It took a while, but slowly Clarke could feel her vision becoming less and less blurry, and the world around her seemed less and less loud. After her breathing relaxed, Luna sat next to her. She didn't ask or meddle; she was there to keep her company.

"Thanks," Clarke said softly, her voice quivering still. "How did yo-"

"Here. Drink this. Sugar can help," Luna said, placing a can of opened orange juice in Clarke's hand. Clarke obeyed, taking small sips.

"As a psych student, I know a panic attack when I see one," she explained. "Is it your first one?" she asked gently. Clarke stirred the straw and bit her lower lip. It didn't happen often, but it _did_ happen. Luna nodded, understanding.

"What I did is called grounding," she continued to explain, "The next time you're having one of those remember, it's the thought that is threatening, not the place. It helps when you use your sense to pull away from your mind and back to the present." She glimpsed a look at Clarke, making a faint smile. "You did well. Be proud."

Clarke snorted loudly, bits of juice escaped her mouth. She covered her face, slightly embarrassed. It was hard to regain a sense of control after everything.

"Recovery isn't linear. You have valleys, but you have mountains as well." Clarke took another deep breath as she felt the hand of Luna resting on her back. Luna glanced at her watch, making a quiet grunt.

"I wanted to stop by at Raven's to support her, but I really have to get back to my shift." she sighed deeply, and Clarke felt a tangle of guilt piercing her heart. Raven needed support today, and she just made everything about herself.

"I'm sorry I kept you away," she mumbled. To her surprise, Luna sent a dangerous glare.

"Don't you ever apologize for taking space. You needed help, and that is always okay," she scolded, shaking her head. "Look, I really need to get back to the psych ward, but Jake, call me later. For real." Luna nodded quietly and walked away.

Clarke exhaled deeply, pushing her hand against her chin. She felt she woke up for a bad dream, bewildered and scared. When she got up, her legs were heavy, like she hadn't walked in a long time. She paced slowly, adjusting herself back to reality.

When her pocket began buzzing, she reached out and grabbed her phone. She had just missed a phone call from Raven, which seemed odd since she only left… how long was it?

Fuck. She left more than an hour ago.

She called Raven quickly, who picked up immediately.

"Where. The fuck. Were you," she spoke with long pauses like she was forcing herself to relax. Clarke closed her eyes, trying to fight back the urge to burst like a kid. She wanted to tell Raven about what happened, but she knew she had no way of twisting it properly. If she told her about the panic attack, Raven would ask what triggered it, which was part of her she could never disclose. Not even to her closest friend. Usually, she could come up with an elaborate lie that explains perfectly why she missed the appointment that Raven begged for her to be in. But right now, she felt exhausted after what happened, and her mind came up with nothing.

"Raven… I'm really sorry," Clarke closed her eyes, leaning on a near wall. She could feel her heart pounding, threatening to burst out of her chest.

"You knew, you knew how scared I was of this thing!" Raven bellowed; her trembling voice made Clarke flinch.

"How did it go?" Clarke felt rude asking her that, but it would've been worse if she hadn't. Raven, on the other line, grew silent, not a good sign. Clarke leaned further, collapsing on the ground. She should have been there.

"Oh," Clarke mumbled, clutching to her phone. Raven exhaled deeply, clearing her throat.

"They want me back for a checkup in two weeks. Something about how my leg is reacting to the prosthetic," Raven muttered through her teeth. Clarke banged her head on the wall, digging her nails into her arm.

"Well, if you'll need anything…" Clarke began.

"It's whatever. I'm on my way home," She hung up the phone before Clarke could say anything else. She tried calling her again multiple times, but it went straight to voice mail. The hinder of disappointment swirled around her mind, tangling deeper and deeper to the point her head ached.

Bellamy sat in front of his computer for hours, staring vacantly at the white slate. He knew he should just pick one topic and stick with it, but whenever he tried to come up with something he wanted to study, his mind would go blank, as if it ran out of battery. He could hear the white noise in his brain, taunting him and his intelligence. When he was teaching, he could have the luxury of lying to himself, saying that the reason he was so ill inspired was due to exhaustion. Now that it was summer, the truth was clear: he ran out of luck. He should've known; no one expected him to go to college, let alone grad school. He didn't have much time before everybody would see the truth, the one that has haunted him for years. He was an imposter, a waste of an academic degree. 

So, when Jasper called and asked Bellamy if he'd like to feed the ducks, Bellamy accepted without being a little snarky about it. Of course, in his mind, "feeding the ducks" was a synonym for some strange, stoned lingo for something. In his mind, it meant thousands of different things, but as it turns out, he was being literal. He asked Bellamy to meet him at a specific bench, "where all the good duckies were at." The guy forgot to pay his bills almost every month, but it turns out that duck-feeding was a high priority.

"I'm really glad we get to do this. I almost never see you anymore," Jasper mentioned while shoving his hand to his pockets. Bellamy's heart winced a bit at his sincerity. Perhaps it was due to years of smoking that ultimately ruined his inhibition, but there was something almost childlike about Jasper. He was very forward with the way he felt, for better or for worse. So, when he said stuff like that, Bellamy knew he had no intention of making him feel bad or being passive-aggressive. He just missed him while he was busy with everything else. Bellamy smiled faintly, placing a hand on Jasper's shoulder. Jasper pulled out a bag of grapes, all cut in half, from his pocket.

"What, no, bread-crumbs?" Bellamy smirked. Jasper shot up a glare, clenching his jaw tightly while narrowing his eyes.

"Bread-crumbs are bad for ducks. They are gluten-free," he scolded Bellamy like it was common knowledge. Bellamy accepted the lecture, nodding in agreement.

"I'm sorry, you're right, that was a dumb question," he admitted, trying to soften Jasper, who seemed upset. "So, how long have you been feeding the ducks?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

Jasper gave half a shrug as if the matter was completely normal, "I don't know. It just happened." He tossed away a handful of grapes, chuckling to the sight of the ducks wobbling their way to them. "It easy for me to get lost," He said after what seemed like a while. "So, coming here sometimes gives me a sense of purpose. I know that ducks are savages that can fend for themselves, but it's nice to feel useful sometimes, you know?"

"So… why did you call me of all people?" Bellamy reached for the bag, throwing a grape, but accidentally hitting one of the duck's head. Damn, why is he such a fuck up lately?

"Yesterday, you seemed lost too," Jasper said, turning directly to Bellamy. It threw Bellamy, knowing that he'd been exposed, at least a little. That's what he would imagine, Jasper feeling if he had known what Monty told him. He thought about denying it, but something about the way Jasper looked at him made it impossible.

Bellamy thought about objecting, but somehow, words failed to come up. He watched Jasper emptying his bag, shaking it until every bit fell on the floor. A short moment after the supply was finished, the ducks faded away. Bellamy wondered if there was some poetic meaning to it and if he could compare their behavior to humans. Clarke would probably say it's a metaphor for humans exploiting each other dry until there's nothing left, leaving the other person empty and moving on to the next target. Or, wait, was it a metaphor or an allegory? What was even the difference?

Bellamy slid further in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. He should've listened to her more when he had the chance. He would've if he knew what the future held for her.

Jasper cleared his throat, gesturing to the joint he held in his hand.

"Man, put that away," Bellamy twitched his nose, distancing himself as far as he could.

Jasper gave half a shrug, "Suit yourself," before placing the joint in his mouth, searching for a light in his pockets. After a few seconds, he let out an angry groan, hitting the side of his thighs. "Goddammit. I took my light out to give room for the grapes," he cursed under his breath. Jasper took a deep exhale, searching for a solution in the secluded spot they were at.

Around them were only two elderly women who occasionally gave them a dirty look.

"Yeah, I doubt that these two are a friend of Mary Jane," Bellamy said, waving at the pair and hoping they wouldn't call the police.

"Dude, stop talking like we're in a bad cop film." Jasper leaned his head back and groaned in agony, "Also, like I told you about a thousand times it's medicinal. It's fine."

One of the women whispered something to the other, pointing at them.

"Yeah, but do you have the prescription?" Bellamy insisted. Jasper didn't answer, and instead, he pushed the joint back into his pocket angrily and got up.

"Where are you going?" Bellamy got up as well, eager to distance themselves away as quickly as possible from those two nosy women.

"To the Dropship. J should have a light, and it's two minutes away," Jasper replied. He didn't wait for Bellamy and started walking. Bellamy hurried to catch his step, peeking over his shoulder to make sure no one was after them. Only after they were out of sight could Bellamy focus on his next problem, seeing her.

"You can go ahead and ask for it. I'll wait outside," he said, leaning against the front door. Bellamy knew at some point he should apologize, but he hoped it would be after some time passed. He needed to pull himself together before he could see her again, let alone talk to her.

"What? No, dude, that's lame," Jasper said. I'm not gonna just ask her for a light and bail without at least offering her a puff." He pulled out the joint, placing it behind his ear. For a second, he looked like a kid trying to act tough in front of his friends.

"Is this about the whole fist fight you have with her last night?" Jasper wondered, stopping before entering. "I've meant to ask you what it was all about." He gave Bellamy a lengthy examination like he was trying to decipher a puzzle. Ugh, what was it about Jasper that made him impossible to lie to?

"Yeah," Bellamy sighed, not bothering to contradict the recurring notion that both of them got into an actual physical fight. He admitted, "She just… pushes certain buttons," which was the understatement of the year. When he saw her, it was like a flood of emotions inside his body, sinking him to the bottom of the ocean.

"That is exactly why you need to see her!" Jasper beamed, clapping his hands.

Bellamy let out a snort, shaking his head, "Jasper, what are you talking about?"

"Habituation, man. The more you'll see her, the less effect she'll have on you." Bellamy stopped, gawking at Jasper. It wasn't very in character for Jasper to know that.

"It's a weed thing," Jasper said, without explaining the context.

* * *

Clarke tried calling Raven for hours, but she didn't pick up. Twenty-seven calls later, she received a text saying, 'get the point, give me some space.' Clarke had no choice but to respect the fact that she hurt Raven and do whatever she could to get out of her hair. She spent most of the day in the studio, trying to think of different ways she could make it up to her. After painting, - or more like splashing color angrily at the walls - she decided to head up to her shift, half an hour early. She texted Murphy that she could open up the place if he wanted her to.

He replied instantly, joking about hell freezing over.

Opening the Dropship and preparing it for the shift was a welcomed distraction. It allowed her to focus on something other than Raven and other than Bellamy. It seemed whenever she took a moment to breathe, one of those two popped into her head.

However, preparing the Dropship turned out to be too easy of a task, which meant she was left with an empty bar and a busy mind. She glanced towards the bottles behind her, examining the different brands. She grabbed one of them, tracing her fingers across the label, turning it over and over in her hands. Other people might've been tempted to grab a drink to calm their nerves, but not her. In fact, Clarke never had so much as a drop of alcohol in her life. It was a luxury she knew she couldn't afford, not with her genetics.

She snuck a peek at the seat Bellamy just mere hours ago. A part of her felt guilty of how poorly she treated him, True, they could never be friends, she was good at lying but not _that_ good. However, she could've been friendly at the very least. She could've smiled kindly and talked to him, enjoying the unexpected moment. Instead, she chooses the easier way, being cold and hostile. just to avoid the crushing feeling of losing him again.

Clarke woke herself, noticing that she began peeling off the label from the bottle. She quickly put it back in place, stepping away from it. 

"JAY? Please be here!" she heard a loud pound on the door, that could only belong to one man. Jasper. She sighed in relief, welcoming the distraction.

"It's open!" she called back, smiling widely. 

"Jay, thank god," he beamed at her back. "I need you," Jasper said as he ran to her, wrapping his arms around her. She chuckled, shaking her head. She was glad to see him, maybe having a smoke with him would calm her down. "Now that I think about it, don't you usually start much later?" Jasper drew his eyebrows together. 

"Must be fate. Now, how can I help you?" She crocked an eyebrow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

"He forgot his light," a voice from behind her said, one that sent a shiver down her spine. It was him again. She thought he'd never come back. What are the chances of not seeing someone for almost a decade and then seeing them twice in the same week?

She glanced at him for a second, quickly returning to face Jasper. It was hard to look at Bellamy, especially during the daylight. Yesterday the darkness protected her from being recognized, but also protect her from seeing him, actually seeing. With daylight, Clarke could truly appreciate how different he looked from what she remembered. She spotted a few new freckles, which she imagined are still a sore subject for him. She could see the thin lines on the area around his eyes, probably from frowning so much. She noticed the close trim on his facial hair and couldn't help but wonder how he looked with a beard.

But what was even worse was that in a way, he wasn't different at all.

She forced herself to make eye contact, gazing at him. His jaw was clenched, making him look severe and hostile. It was a look she'd seen before, but it had never been directed at her. It was a look that was preserved for people he despised; people who got onto his last nerve. It was a look that meant 'I'm trying to act civil, but it takes everything I have not to lose it right now.'

Was she that harsh yesterday? She had to be; otherwise, he would've figured it out. She took a deep breath, smiling at him faintly. She couldn't be his friend because it was too risky, but she could at least be friendly.

"Oh, it's you, the grumpy dude from last night," she commented, trying to sound as casual as possible. Like she could barely remember him.

"That's Bellamy, Bellamy, this is Jay," Jasper said, pushing Bellamy towards Clarke, almost knocking him over. Bellamy seemed aggravated even when he held his hand out for a shake. It was surreal, to reintroduce herself to her former best friend. Forced a small smile and shook his hand with a swift motion. His hands felt rough against her skin, and she resisted an urge to grab it and explore the different lines on it. 

"I needed you both to behave, especially since I expect both of you to be at my birthday party next week," his tone was supposedly mock scolding them, but Clarke felt a hint of warning. 

"So, you needed a light, buddy?" she reached to her pocket and grabbed the light, slamming it on the counter. "Have at it."

Jasper sighed in relief, taking the joint behind his ear and lighting it with shaking hands. The moment he exhaled, his posture seemed to relax entirely. He closed his eyes, taking another smoky inhale. He offered Clarke a puff, to which she shook her head with a faint smile. Getting high was another thing she couldn't afford to do.

"Man, you guys are no fun," he mumbled, turning his back to the both of them.

"Is that the peer pressure my mama has been warning me about?" Clarke joked, leaning forward to Jasper. Jasper jerked his head towards Clarke with a knowing smile.

"I pity the guy who would try to pressure you to do anything," Jasper commented. Clarke forgot how nice it was to talk to Jasper while he wasn't tuned out. It seemed a rather rare occasion these days. She thought about saying it out loud, expressing her enjoyment at his sobriety when his phone rang. He put the joint in his mouth while grabbing the phone with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Fuck, I gotta take this. I'll be right back, don't get into another fist…" Bellamy punched his shoulder before he could finish his sentence. Jasper winced a bit, and then hurried outside while placing the phone between his shoulder and head.

It was just the two of them.

He cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. He was nervous, but she wasn't sure why. She leaned against the counter, grateful for it hiding her leg, relentlessly tapping behind it.

_What does she usually do with her hands?_

They seemed to hang from the sides of her body, limp and heavy. At a time like this, she missed her long hair. Pulling up for a ponytail was the perfect diversion. Instead, she grabbed a towel and started to wipe the already clean counter.

"About yesterday…" he opened, avoiding her gaze at all cause.

She froze, taking in a deep inhale, "What about it?" Her fingers clenched the fabric. She thought she got away with him recognizing her last night, but what if he didn't buy it? She couldn't risk him finding out who she was.

"I was drunk, it's hardly an excuse, but I'm sorry," he grunted out, barely opening his jaw. It seemed like each word was forced out of his mouth.

"Oh," she replied, biting the lower half of her lip. She glimpsed towards the mirror behind the bar, taking reassurance in her appearance. He didn't recognize her yesterday, nor will he ever, for that matter. It wasn't just the hair, or the contacts, or even the makeup. She is a different person now, and any slight resemblance he might find would be strictly coincidental. Her reflection reminded her of who she was now. Clarke was dead. She had to be, for Jake to survive.

And Jake wasn't the kind of girl to let guys so quickly off the hook.

"You're right. It's not an excuse," she muttered through her teeth.

He let out a surprised chuckle. It was enough for him to look at her finally. "That was cold," he commented. She recognized this tone; he was trying to charm her to let it slide. It wasn't genuine; it was just him trying smooth things over.

"I just don't think people should drink if they can't hold their liquor," she knew she was being judgmental, but it was beyond her.

He narrowed his eyebrows, blinking repeatedly. "You work in a _bar_ ," he prolonged the last word, as to remind her where she was. "You'd think that you could be a little less…"

"I didn't realize being a bartender meant that I'm not entitled to have an opinion. Or is my role in the world to simply throw a towel on my shoulder, offering people my lighter and asking them about their day?" she tilted her head, crossing both her arms. 

He looked at her for a while; he's eyes wandering slowly from her upper body to her neck until finally meeting her gaze. "I guess you're right," he finally said. Now it was her turn to look away, uncomfortable by the strange intimacy that snuck its way into the conversation.

"I usually am," she blurted out, trying to break the electricity that hung between them. Bellamy leaned backward in his seat, and the edges of his lips seemed tempted to curl into the familiar smile she knew so well. From the outside, Jasper let out an aggravated groan, stomping his legs. Whoever called him was getting on his last nerves. Bellamy glanced towards Jasper, exhaling deeply. 

"Speaking of light… I got a small favor to ask you," he said, rubbing both his temples. It was an apparent attempt to change the subject, but it did raise her curiosity.

"What is it?" she crossed both her arms, crooking one eyebrow.

He gestured towards Jasper, "Don't humor him. He needs to stop smoking so much." Clarke tilted her head, leaning on her elbows to get a better look at Jasper. Even though she's known Jasper for a while and considered him a friend, she had never met him during the daylight. She never gave his smoking habits much thought, and just assumed it was his way to unwind after a long day. But the way Bellamy's voice slightly trembled when he spoke, suggested otherwise. 

"It's nothing, probably. He needs to hold back a little, that's all." His tone was confident, but Clarke couldn't help but notice his fingers fidgeting while he talked, like he was trying to convince not only her but the both of them.

"Do… do you think he's an addict?" she asked, lowering her voice even though Jasper was far away. In her mind, she was already reciting the symptoms she knew too well. Each sign she checked was like an arrow, straight to her heart. Other people might have excuses, but not her. Jasper was different than other people she met; he was sincere and vulnerable. He treated people with genuine kindness, and the _least_ she could do for him was to return the favor.

Bellamy drew back, raising both of his hands, his eyes widening, as terror washed over his face. "No! No way. He has a job, he pays his rent, mostly. He's not an addict," He ran his fingers through his black, curly hair, letting out a frustrated groan. A part of her wanted to hold him, telling him that it was going to be okay. Perhaps if they'd be talking about anything else but this particular subject, she would've been able to.

"You can be a fully functioning addict," she said delicately while examining every shift in his expression.

"Isn't that some kind of an oxymoron?" he chuckled darkly, turning away from her. "Look, forget I said anything. You're making him sound like he's mentally damaged," he grabbed his bag, ready to leave, but Clarke wasn't going to let him off that easily. She hurried out the bar, blocking him. Considering he was much taller than she remembered, she knew it made her look a little foolish, but she didn't care. He stopped, lowering his gaze to her.

"What?" he barked, trying to move past her. 

"Jasper is my friend," she reminded him, and in return, he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he mentioned that you two have known each other for a month, what a striking friendship," he said sarcastically, huffing at her statement. Clarke clenched her fists, trying to remain calm. She knew he was being protective, but she also knew what was at risk. She knew better than anyone what addiction can trigger.

"If you're saying that he is an addict…" she started.

"Stop using that word!" he cried out in frustration, facing away from her. "He's just… struggling a bit, that's all."

"If he is struggling, it's our job to help him."

"I _am_ helping him," Bellamy murmured, but Clarke noted that he sounded unsure. That was her chance to get through to him.

"You are an enabling him, there's such a huge difference." Her hands reached for her hair, and she resisted the urge to pluck it out literally. "There are places that can do a better job than we co…"

"No," he hissed in a low voice, gazing right at her. She took a step back, surprised by his tone. He forced out his words, "People have bad days, it doesn't mean we need to throw them away…

"I'm not talking about throwing him away," she talked slowly, to make sure he understood every word. "Unless you are a professional, you can't help him. All your good intentions are fucking useless here," she didn't mean to attack him; after all, his intentions were good. For a second, he stood there, and Clarke could've sworn she saw his hurt in his eyes. However, even if she did hit a soft spot, the expression vanished as quickly as it came.

"Bellamy! We need to get going," Jasper called from the outside. Bellamy nodded, flashing a bright smile, before moving closer to Clarke.

"Guess what? Life is messy. People make mistakes, people are _not_ perfect. Not everyone can be as high and mighty as you, princess," his smile was still plastered all over his face.

Clarke felt the world turning black from that nickname. She heard it many times, but never with so much spite. It wasn't an endearing way for him to tease her about her majestic like qualities or her royal appearance, it was to hurt her. He used his former pet name to hurt her.

"Get out," is all she said.

He was her former best friend, and he hated her.

 _Fine_ , she can hate him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the next chapter: Bellamy and Clarke fighting, much to the dismay of everyone around them.


End file.
